Vera Washington smiled anxiously as she walked into the young artist’s office, her heart fluttering. It wasn’t always that someone in their forties was asked to model; to this was quite the rush; especially for a man who was a rising star in the art world.
So what if he only was known as ‘The Sculptor’? People tended to get strange when they were famous; and if a change in name was all that was wrong with him, Vera could do much worse with her time. The woman closed the door behind herself and looked into the office curiously, raising her voice as she let out a curious “Hello?”
The soft padding of skin on wood sounded from the room, and the woman plastered a smile on her face as the man entered the room, a smile on his face. He was a well-muscled blonde, with long hair that covered his forehead, and a thin beard that covered his face.
“Why hello there. You’re Vera?” He asked, returning her smile with one of his own, extending his hand. His words were spoken with the soft hush of a man with a superiority complex. It reminded Vera a little of Andy Warhol, and she had to fight back the urge to laugh.
“I am.” She grinned, taking his hand happily with a slight curtsy. She tilted her head down in a nod to keep a snicker from her lips; then looked back up to him once he’d composed himself. “And it’s a pleasure to be the inspiration for your latest piece.”
The Sculptor laughed, shaking his head. “No, you’re not going to be the inspiration; you’re going to be so much more than that. I think it’s very safe to say that this piece couldn’t possibly exist without you; which is why I’ve asked for so much of your time.”
Vera smiled, a little flattered. “Time means nothing to me; not when there’s such an impressive artist standing before me.”
“Well said.” The man nodded, a small smile on his face. “Just to check, are you sure nobody’s going to miss you over the next few days?”
“No; of course not. Nobody will miss me at all, actually… Is that part of why I’ve gotten this job?” Vera spoke with a small smile, knowing that her suspicions were probably a hundred percent accurate.
“Perhaps.” Was all the man said in reply; though his smile told her that she hadn’t missed her mark. Well, she didn’t mind. Work was work.
The model followed him into a side room, chuckling. “Hey, I’m fine if you did, I just…” She trailed off at the sight of the room. There were dozens of sculpting tools and even a marble pedestal; and yet there wasn’t a block of marble in sight.
The Sculptor noticed her confusion, and he turned to her with a small and calming smile. “You might be confused by my lack of medium. Don’t worry; I need to first visualize the immortalization.”
Vera blinked, beginning to suspect that this man wasn’t entirely sane. “Immortalization?”
He nodded, flashing her a small smile. “Of course. What else would you use to describe becoming a work of art; well past the end of human civilization?”
“That’s not how I’d put it…” Vera began; hurriedly correcting herself. “Of course; that’s why I’m not a renowned sculptor.” The woman hurriedly added the last bit; but the man airily waved her off.
“Of course, of course. If I could have you stand on that podium?” He said dryly, again with that tone of the ‘artiste’.
Vera sighed, a little worried she’d upset the man. At least he hadn’t asked her to leave… She set both feet on the marble podium, then turned to him. “Is this good?”
Instead of answering her question, he smiled slowly, an odd look on his face that set Vera’s nerves on edge. “Finally.” He chuckled, his tone completely different from the one he’d used since she’d entered his studio.
Vera found herself at a loss for words as The Sculptor strolled up to her, stretching his arms and slouching forwards with a frightening smile on her face. It was the sort of smile that promised nothing but pain and terror for the viewer, and she chuckled a little uneasily.
“You know, you can really drop the serial killer vibe…” Vera muttered, her fight or flight instinct still torn between which of the two she should choose.
“Oh, relax. I’m hardly going to kill you…” The Sculptor pushed his hair back behind his ears with a languid grin, revealing a ring of scars around his crown. “Though you’ll likely wish you were dead, when this is said and done.”
The man knelt down by Vera’s feet, grabbing them before she could move. Purple flame licked from his hands to her feet, and she screamed in surprise as her shoes and socks were literally burned from her body. It gave her feet a strangely white, opalescent appearance thanks to the ash, and Vera finally decided it was time to run.
Unfortunately, as she jerked her legs in an attempt to move, her feet remained completely frozen to the podium. The woman looked down again to her feet; only to blink in shock at the sight of her skin. Now that she got a better look at her feet, her skin weren’t just covered in that white substance-they were the white substance!
Her heart began to race in her chest as she looked down to the man, his hands still glowing with that same purple flame. He trailed them both up her calves, forcing them a little closer together and making them go numb as they turned a deeply reflective white.
Now that Vera was focusing on the changes, she could feel the pain that came with her flesh changing; hardening into what could only be marble. A stabbing ache like she’d pulled her muscles filled her legs; only to go forever numb as she became solid marble.
“There’s no way, this is impossible!” Vera pleaded loudly, a soft whimper escaping her lips as the man looked back up to her with that sick smile on his face.
“Is it, now?” As he spoke, he trailed his hands up to her thighs; beaming. “Or is that just what your pathetic little mind wants you to think?”
“Ah! It hurts!” Vera yelped, her knees solidifying as her dress’s hem burned up to her waist, leaving her lower half clad only in underwear. Her smooth and creamy thighs became nothing more than cold, hard marble; and the woman shuddered in horror, looking to the man pleadingly.
“Oh, you think this is pain?” He laughed, cupping one hand around her groin and trailing the other in a quick circle around her hips. “You’ve no idea of what’s to come, then.”
She screamed as her vagina and ass were licked by his oddly cold flames, which bared them and solidified them at the same time. “W-what do you mean?” She asked, breathing raggedly as he snaked his hands up her chest, turning her slightly at the waist to give her a slightly more alluring posture.
Her breath was snatched away as her torso forever froze, replaced with the glossy white of marble. The woman groaned and looked to The Sculptor pleadingly, asking again “What do you mean?” It was a little odd that she could speak without lungs; but then again it was also a little strange that she was becoming a freaking statue.
The blond’s smile impossibly widened as he grabbed her arms, pulling them out and holding them at the woman’s sides. She bit her lip and forced herself not to scream at the agony of her nerves dying; then looked to the man with a curious glare and a scowl. “What the hell kind of pose is this for a statue? Aren’t you supposed to be an artist?”
The Sculptor had a blank look on his face as he turned from Vera and stood, walking towards the door. For a moment, she allowed a victorious smile to pass across her face, a little strange given her circumstances yet none the less satisfying. Even if she’d become some sort of statue, at least she’d managed to hurt his feelings.
Then she saw he wasn’t heading to the door; but rather to the tools on the wall. If she still had a heart, it surely would have sank as the man picked out what looked like a circular saw, clicking its trigger and spinning up the blade with an audible whir.
“N-no, wait! What are you doing!” Vera whimpered, shaking her head rapidly in an attempt to free herself from the prison that was her body. “Please, no, not that! Help HELP! SOMEBODY!”
The Sculptor laughed, shaking his head as he shouted. “I own every room in a block around this one; nobody can hear you!” He laughed manically, walking up to her and placing the saw against her left shoulder.
She whimpered and looked to him pleadingly, choking in distress. “I didn’t mean it! This is a fine pose! Please, whatever you’re doing-”
She was cut off as the circular saw bit into her shoulder blade, and the woman screamed with pain. Somehow her marble body could still feel itself being cut, from the sting of the blade to the heat of it tearing through her arm. She screamed and screamed until her throat was hoarse; and yet even that wasn’t enough to express how much pain she felt being cut by that damnable saw.
Finally, it was through; and her arm fell to the ground with a thunk, bicep first. Though she was relieved that the pain wouldn’t continue; there was an odd sense of loss, a phantom pain that made her miss her arm dearly.
Then he moved to her right side, not even giving her time to catch her breath before pressing the sharp kiss of the saw to her arm. This shoulder was closer to her head, and she could hear the keening shriek of steel on stone as he severed her other arm with an agonizing patience.
Her other arm fell as she finally caught her breath to shriek, landing on its hand this time. Her fingers splintered off from the impact, and she looked down to her mangled arm with a strange sense of disbelief; her mind unable to process the damage that had been inflicted upon her body.
Then it all caught up with her, and tears started to pool in her eyes. This wasn’t fair; wasn’t right! She was just an out-of-work model looking for her big break; how had it ended up like this? “Puh-puh-please, just let me go…” She sobbed, looking up to The Sculptor only to find him heading back to the door once more.
“Why would I do that?” He called over his shoulder, spinning around with a gleeful pirouette as he picked up a belt sander. “You’re not finished yet!” He called out, delight apparent in his tone as he approached her once more.
“W-wait! No, please, NO!” Vera screamed, only for him to shove the sander against her stone stumps, slowly grinding them down to her shoulders. If she thought the saw was painful; then she truly didn’t know what pain was.
Not only could she feel herself being slowly worn down by an oversized power tool; she could also feel her body getting so very, very hot from the grinding. Though her skin was made of stone, it still felt like it was being burnt; heating to the point that she felt she was going to melt.
But stone was far stronger than the frail human form she was used to, giving it a higher tolerance for punishment. The pain only built past what her human mind could expect, until she thought she’d go mad. Just when she could take no more, the loud whirring of sander on marble droned to a quiet buzz, and The Sculptor stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“You… You sick bastard…” Vera sobbed, tears streaking from her eyes as she looked to each of her perfectly polished stumps in turn. It looked like she’d never had arms to begin with, her shoulders ending in smooth curves.
“You… You statue.” The Sculptor said mockingly, a wide grin on his face as he brought his hands around her neck. “Or were we not stating the obvious?”
Vera tried to retort; only for a soundless silence to escape her lips, her vocal chords forever silenced by stone. Another tear slipped past her eyes as she let out a silent sob; watching as The Sculptor brought his hands up to her cheeks, forcing her face into a still statue’s smile.
She could barely process the pain of her body changing now; the agony from having her shoulders sawed down still fresh in her mind. Compared to that, she feeling of her nerves dying was like the touch of a feather, and Vera looked helplessly to The Sculptor as he froze her nose; her ears; everything but her eyes.
“There, perfect.” He said with a smile, waving a hand before her eyes and drying them into the pale alabaster of marble. “A serene smile with sad eyes; Da Vinci would be proud. I’ll have some men from the gallery pick you up in the morning.” The Sculptor took a step back to slowly sweep his gaze up and down her naked marble body; then he turned to leave. “Until we meet again.” He called over his shoulder, walking past Vera’s range of vision.
The new statue wanted to follow him with her eyes, but they were frozen forward, only seeing the dull blank wall before her. Still, she could hear just fine; and she heard the quiet footfalls of the man’s bare feet vanish into the distance.
Left alone with her thoughts, she wondered how long it would be before she was put on display at an art gallery; how long she would remain there; how long people would stare at her naked body and ask about her missing arms. And she wondered how long it would be before she went mad.